


Snowfall

by BackInMaroon



Category: Red vs. Blue
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-10-12
Updated: 2015-10-12
Packaged: 2018-04-26 02:59:51
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 663
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4987516
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/BackInMaroon/pseuds/BackInMaroon
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The three men sighed. There they were, standing in the snow, wearing their Sunday best, and trying to have a little respect for what lay underneath the black marble cross.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Snowfall

Disclaimer: I own nothing used or mentioned in this story, nor do I make any profit off of this.  
Snowfall  
A Oneshot

“You’ve been awfully quiet. Are you gonna be okay?”  
Donut’s cheerful-yet-broken voice snapped Simmons out of the trance he was in.  
“I’m fine, I’m just…” He trailed off, staring at the unbelievable sight in front of him.  
“Just what?” Donut asked.  
“I’m just going to miss him, that’s all,” Simmons finished.  
“We all are, even Sarge,” Donut said.  
Simmons gave a low chuckle, sounding more like a sob.  
“I doubt that,” He laughed.  
Simmons hugged the helmet he was holding to his chest, as if it were his lifeline.  
The two heard snow-crushing footsteps coming toward them. Even though neither of them looked up, they knew who it was.  
“Finally decided to join us?” Simmons asked.  
“Yep. I thought I might pay my final insults to him,” Sarge replied gruffly.  
It began to snow lightly. Simmons wasn’t wearing a coat. He didn’t care.  
“I worry about you Simmons,” Donut said, breaking the silence, “What are you going to do with the rest of your life without him?”  
“I don’t know. We were close- nearly inseparable,” Simmons replied.  
“That’s a fact,” Donut joked.  
Simmons let out a quiet sob, then laughed at himself.  
“Look at me, crying over him. He thought I was enough of a girl already,” He said through his laughter.  
The three men sighed. There they were, standing in the snow, wearing their Sunday best, and trying to have a little respect for what lay underneath the black marble cross.  
“Damn those dirty Blues,” Sarge muttered.   
“Cheers,” Donut and Simmons replied in unison.  
“Maybe he’ll come back, like Church did,” Donut wondered aloud.  
The three laughed. It was a melancholy sound, but comforting nonetheless.  
“Well, I better get going. I have a meeting with Red Command about a replacement trooper,” Sarge stated.  
Out of his coat pocket he drew a golden medal with a red strap. He hung it around the cross and stared at it for a few seconds.  
“Rest in peace, dirtbag,” he muttered before trudging off into the distance.  
“I should get going too,” Donut said, “I want to grab a few things before we’re shuttled back to Blood Gulch tomorrow,”  
He faced the cross and placed an orange daisy at the foot of it. It was somehow still fresh and lively, despite the chill of the winter air.  
“If you’re hearing this, I’m not going to take your armor,” Donut said to the cross.  
He then walked in the same direction as Sarge, leaving Simmons alone with the black marble cross.  
“Hey…um… So I want you to know that I don’t hate you. You may have been an insufferable asshole of a person, but I don’t hate you, and I never did,” Simmons stated.  
He pressed his forehead to the orange helmet he was holding.   
“If only that bullet wound wasn’t fatal,” He whispered.  
Simmons placed the orange helmet at the foot of the cross.  
He crouched down, hugging his knees to his chest, wrinkling his maroon tie. He read and reread the plaque on the cross, a single thought occupying his mind.  
Dexter Grif, you were my best friend and you had to go and get yourself killed.  
He stood up and began to walk away, then remembering the tradition they had always had. He stared at the gravestone, with its Red Army medal and its daisy and the orange helmet, belonging to the soldier that lay six feet under the black marble cross.  
Simmons swallowed the lump that was forming in his throat and mustered his best casual tone.  
“See you around, Fatass,” He said, knowing this time would be the last.  
When he turned away from the tombstone, he swore he heard a faint, “Later, Kiss-ass,”  
As Simmons walked away from the black marble cross, the snowfall grew heavier and an orange haze had formed at the edges of the Earth.


End file.
